In the Name of Comedy
by Burgundy Midnight
Summary: Bruce Wayne reflects on his time spent with the most notorious criminal in Gotham.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing aside from the plot and the words.

**Warning: **This story will contain SLASH, blood, and character death.

**A/N: **Hello, again. Ahh, I _know_ I should be working on my other story, but this plot bunny had been gnawing at me for days, and so I found myself utterly unable to refuse a chance at putting it in words. I recommend listening to the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven while reading this, as it is the song I wrote this piece to. This piece was not beta-read, because I have no beta. Tears. So, I would really like to know if anyone would be interested in beta reading my work. Once again, constructive criticism is very much appreciated, but flames _will _be reported. No exceptions. Er, I hope you enjoy it! DX

He had been living with me for a bit over a year, first in the Batcave, and then in my penthouse.

It was curious, the way he made me feel. Utter completion was definitely a first in my life as Batman. He made me feel whole again— something I hadn't felt since my parents lived. Strange, that he, who took so much from me, could give me back so much more than I could have ever dreamed.

The moment we first kissed, my life was given a purpose again. The moment we first touched, the world began to make sense to me once more.

I remember the way he would clutch on to me when we would become a sweaty jumble of limbs and burning passion. I was as if he were holding on to dear life. And life is what he was to me. What he still is.

Looking into his eyes during our peak— glazed, green, perfect— is, to this day, the most gratifying movement of muscles my body has ever experienced. During that moment, his eyes would emanate a sense of purity so heartbreakingly beautiful, I could never hold back the choked sob that would escape my lips time and time again in the form of his name. "Jack".

It does not cease to fascinate me that something that mean so much to me— the world, even— could have been snatched from me forever during something as simple as a midnight drive, _by_ something as trivial as a man in a truck running a red light at ninety miles per hour.

I remember the blinding white of the headlights as the truck drew closer to the passenger's side in slow motion. There was a split second of silence that lasted an eternity, and then the deafening sound of metal being crushed. Everything went black after that. No time— no space existed in the dark.

It was like this for I don't know how long. I assume it must have been minutes, because there were no cops or paramedics yet. Not even bystanders— the street had been utterly desolate save us and the other driver.

My vision would come in and out of focus, and I soon became vaguely aware of warm liquid running slowly down the left side of my face. I had banged my head against the window and left a web-like series of cracks on the pane. My entire body ached, but years of experience with physical injuries were enough to let me know I was fine.

With a gasp I remembered I was not the only one in the vehicle. I snapped my head to the right.

Jack sat, perfectly motionless save for the barely discernible rise and fall of his chest caused by his shallow breathing. His eyes were open and glazed over, his lips slightly parted. Blood trickled past them and down his chin, staining his trademark purple suit. My eyes widened as I became aware that his abdomen was covered in the crimson liquid, and I was with him in an instant.

A piece of metal from the door, which had been crushed inwards, had pierced into his side when the truck collided with our car. I couldn't stop my face from contorting, or the gasp of horror that sounded akin to an explosion in the utter silence.

I knew removing the metal then and there would have been detrimental. Desperation filled me, invading my thought process and dulling my senses. I took his chin in my hand and turned his head so as to lock eyes with him.

"Jack." I ground out, tears threatening to overflow. His emerald orbs seemed to find my face. "You'll make it through this." He swallowed and licked his lips.

"No, Bruce. Not this time."

"_Don't_… don't say that."

"Bruce…" His eyes began to lose focus once more.

"_Look at me!_" I growled. He managed to stare back. His face looked paler than usual. His skin was unbearably icy.

"Bruce, kiss me. One last time. Please," he rasped.

"It won't be the last, Ja—"

"_Bruce!_" He whispered out, the closest he could get to an agitated yell. "Do it."

I nodded and brought his lips to mine. Gone was the blissful warmth that would radiate from him when we kissed, enveloping me, intoxicating me. I sobbed into the kiss, salty tears intermingling with the coppery flavor of his blood. My fingers tangled into his soft, green hair.

I hear him sigh softly when the kiss was finally broken.

"I love you, Bruce. More than life itself. You… brought love to an existence filled with chaos. You… taught me how to _live_. I can never thank you enough. I love you… with all of my being, Bruce. Wherever I go after this, know that I will _never _forget you, and know that I will never be completely gone. Not… completely. A part of me will always live in here." He raised his hand slowly and placed it delicately on top of my heart. I nodded furiously and buried my face in the crook of his neck. I heard him giggle softly. Always the clown. I drew back and looked into his eyes. The lack of the usual vitality residing in them terrified me.

"Got that?" Once again, I nodded. He smiled faintly and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his grin grew brighter, a shadow of the smiles he gave before, but still beautiful, nonetheless.

"See you later, Bats." His hand dropped from my chest, his eyes drew themselves shut, but the grin never left his face. Forever my Joker.

I snapped. An bestial mixture between a howl and a roar ripped its way out of me from the very depths of my soul.

I don't know how long I was there, clutching onto the lifeless remnant of my lost love. I disregarded the wailing of the sirens and the flashing lights of the ambulances and cop cars, the paramedics struggling to take me away from Jack. They were trivial. I wanted to be with Jack. Jack. Jack. His name soon became a mantra, only broken by my unintelligible yelling at the paramedics to go away and let us be. The finally had to sedate me. My violent trembling gradually began to recede, and my mumbling slowly came to a stop. The world went black yet again.

When I awoke, I was in a large hospital room with an excellent view of the city. A view I could not bring myself to appreciate then. The walls were an off-white color, and a faint sterile scent hung in the air. It appeared to be late afternoon, as the sky was the color of a ripe peach.

Alfred sat asleep in a chair beside my bed, snoring lightly. Everything looked so normal. But it wasn't. And he was gone.

I didn't notice the anguished sob until after I had uttered it, waking Alfred up in the process.

"Master Wayne." His voice held a somber note of pain and sympathy. He had always hated to see me grieving, but it was more than that. He had grown fond of Jack over the months. Slowly, he had begun fussing over him just as much as he did over me.

"He's gone, Alfred."

"No, sir. Never gone."

--

The brief time Jack and I had together will forever be, undoubtedly, the best of my life. I cannot say the pain of his loss does not weigh on me every single minute of my existence, because it does. God, it does. But I have learned to endure, to deal with the never ending ache. I am doing the impossible, and I have never felt stronger.

With his death came a new sense of will, of purpose, that keeps me going even when I feel the weight is an inch from bringing me under.

I will continue living in the name and memory of Jack's joy. Of his passion for life. His vitality, his humor, his light. _I will go on_. And on the day I die, I will face death with a grin, like he did, and take the Reaper's hand with joy and finality, knowing that we never really died in the first place.

In the name of comedy.

– Bruce Wayne


End file.
